The questions that we have to ask and to answer about that procession during this moment of transition are so important that they may well change the lives of men and women forever. For we have to ask ourselves, here and now, do we wish to join that procession, or don’t we? On what terms shall we join that procession? Above all, where is it leading us, the procession of educated men? …Let us never cease from thinking—what is this “civilisation” in which we find ourselves? What are these ceremonies and why should we take part in them? What are these professions and why should we make money out of them? Where in short is it leading us, the procession of the sons of educated men?

It is December 31, 2017. I spent a little of this afternoon studying charities—their impact, alignment with my values, efficiency ratings, etc.—ultimately deciding on those that I would make part of my monthly giving for 2018. Continue reading →

Last week, the Internet exploded. It exploded with women’s (mostly) testimony and witness to sexual assault and harassment, a response to Harvey Weinstein and every sexual predator that ever took what was not his by force or coercion and without consent–verbal or emotional. Continue reading →

As late as high school, my older son’s ambition was to be President of the United States. In fact, under the heading “Objective” on his high school resume for Starbucks, he wrote something like, “I’m going to be the first gay president of the United States, but in the meantime, I would consider it a great privilege to serve coffee in your establishment.” He got the job. Continue reading →

I come often to this bar to read, to write, or to hang out with friends–often a combination of the three–and as many times as memory serves, I order the same drink, a Classic Manhattan, Makers… straight up. It is a mark of the up-and-coming-ness of this bar that resting on the side of my martini glass is a black plastic skewer impaling not the chemically colored, oddly rubbered maraschino cherry of my childhood, but a Luxardo maraschino named after the family that produced it, Italians growing their own Marasca varietal and stewing the fruit to syrupy perfection in naught but sugar and cherry juice. I could eat a whole jar. Continue reading →

Last month, I planted lupines–both seeds and plants–in the earth and in a concrete Italian statuary planter anchored in a new bed I’ve decided is to become a very drought-tolerant wildflower garden. I pulled the grass and weeds, turned and amended the soil, and dug a slice of earth for the edging that I hammered with stakes into the base of the trench. I planted seeds around and between the planter that I hoped would produce some spritely blue flax, mountain columbine, white cosmos, yarrow, blue penstemon, and desert marigold, and when I finished, I stood back imagining a certain fluidity to this garden… a fluidity of height and air and color that bends in a breeze and lifts to sunlight in an old-world style that speaks of joy and ease— that speaks of the simple beauty of being. That was the idea. Continue reading →